Poem: Walkers With Tennis Balls

Growing older

makes you accept

change,

circumstances

beyond your control.

 

Nursing homes,

microwave meals,

arthritic fingers,

feet soaked in salts,

walkers

with tennis balls.

 

It makes you adapt,

recognize

the lasting things,

remember

the missing things.

 

Doctor visits,

rising co-pays,

bunions on both

feet, murmurs

of the heart,

on the john

way too long.

 

Growing older

humbles you,

makes you accept

your fate, head

and hands that shake.

 

Choose a date,

time and place,

pay the burial fee,

make peace with the

creator,

take a number

and wait

your turn.